


Time Passing

by Michelle_A_Emerlind



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And Daryl Likes It, Atlanta, CDC, Drunk Sex, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Rick is Handsy, Spoilers Through Season Two, Versatile!Rickyl, farm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:29:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2756228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelle_A_Emerlind/pseuds/Michelle_A_Emerlind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl and Rick go into Atlanta alone to look for Merle on the roof, setting in place a series of chain reactions that keep bringing them together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I: 24 Hours in Atlanta

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU of Season One in which Daryl and Rick go into Atlanta alone to find Merle. This fic can be read alone, but was written to take place before my fic [Lower Fields](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2771033) and the Lower Fields companion piece [Higher Ground](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2749952) by skarlatha.

_10:17 a.m._

Rick’s first impression of Daryl is as simple as the redneck looks: trouble. He finds nothing good in Daryl’s overconfident swagger, the rough cut of his clothing, the hate in his eyes. Another criminal, he thinks, another sad story and in this day and age, they don’t have time for _my daddy didn’t love me_.

Still, he respects Daryl’s emotion, the raw need to find his only family in the world. Daryl stands there, grief written on his face clear as the Georgia sun-- _Just tell me where he is so I can go get him_ \--and after all, isn’t that what Rick has been doing? So he tries to compromise quickly, tells Daryl he’ll go back and Daryl nods his acceptance, but glares his disbelief.

Shane argues and Lori gives him that resentful look she has always carried for him, but Rick is a man of principle. A man of ethics. And it’s the ethical thing to do to fix his mistake, to uncuff the man that he left on the roof to die. He waves away offers of help from T-Dog, Glenn, and the others. Says they can’t leave the camp unprotected. He and Daryl will go back for Merle. And the guns.

_12:34 p.m._

Daryl watches from a distance as Rick says goodbye to his family. Watches him kneel to look his son in the eye, touch his head with adoration. He watches him breeze past Lori and notices how they are like opposing magnets, rejecting the air that surrounds the other.

The tan uniform on Rick’s back is giving Daryl a headache and his skin itches to stay the hell away from the “King County Sheriff” attached firmly to Rick’s shoulder. It’s bad enough that he and Merle have had to deal with Shane, but this one has morals. Morals that are dangerous, especially if Rick keeps taking charge, keeps calling the shots. Daryl is not in the habit of trusting people and he’s definitely not going to be trusting a two-bit small town cop who stumbled into camp all righteousness and light. Daryl doesn’t want to have to make the difficult choice--Rick’s way or a highway full of Walkers and only himself to count on.

So he shuts up. He’s good at that. He keeps his mouth sealed, his crossbow down, his hands at his side. He watches Rick carefully and he thinks of scenarios that he doesn’t want to even consider--Merle’s body on the roof, walking or not walking. Daryl having to fend for himself like he always has. And, if worse comes to worst, having to cater to Rick, having to fit in.

_12:45 p.m._

The camp disappears behind them and Rick floors the gas. Daryl isn’t sure if it’s because he is in a rush to find the guns, a rush to fix his own mistake, or a rush to get away. He wonders if Rick is as dumb as he looks or if he sees the glances in Lori and Shane’s eyes. Asks himself if the Rick who embraced Lori so readily when he arrived would even care to notice.

“He better be okay,” Daryl says because he hates the tension. “That’s my only word on the matter.”

Rick gives him a sidelong look. “I wouldn’t have left him if he hadn’t been a danger to the group. Your brother was a real jackass back there.” Rick keeps his hand on the steering wheel, jaw set and eyes forward.

“Don’t mean he should end like that,” Daryl says, glaring at grass and pine from the passenger side window. Beside him, Rick says nothing, but just drives. Daryl watches as the city comes into view, gets closer.

Finally, Rick leans to him, just slightly. “We’ll find him,” Rick says, voice as hard and breakable as glass.

_1:15 p.m._

They pull onto the railroad tracks and Rick parks the car, hesitating only for a moment. He looks at Daryl’s crossbow, clutched in his hand. “I only have three rounds,” he says, knowing perfectly well that Shane gave him four, “so I’ll have to count on you to keep them off of me.

He tries to read the expression in Daryl’s eyes but finds it surprisingly difficult, everything the other man is thinking held behind that hard and intensive stare. Daryl shrugs like it’s easy. “Plan is to get in, get out, right? No pansy-ass wandering around. Let’s go.”

He slides out of the car and pushes the door back in a motion to slam it, but catches it in the last minute, shutting it quietly and unobtrusively. Rick sets his jaw at Daryl’s pisspoor attitude, but climbs out himself, grabs the backpack with provisions and the bolt cutters, and then he is jogging into Atlanta, side-by-side with Daryl.

When they get into the city, they hug the buildings, Rick moving forward to lead the way. The entrance to the shop is open and waiting and Rick slides in first, taking a look around. Luckily, the Walkers that invaded are mostly gone, but Rick spots one in the back, a girl, died maybe in her 20s.

He holds up two fingers and hears Daryl stop right behind him. Rick motions to the Walker and glances at Daryl, who nods his understanding. And then Daryl walks past him and Rick blinks. In an instant, he goes from petulant delinquent to all business and grace, crouched low to the ground, moving forward silently. Deadly, Rick thinks, and hopes he has not underestimated him. For a second, Rick wonders about the future. About if Daryl is a risk to Carl and Lori and if it would be a better idea to take care of that risk now. But then Daryl stands up, all his muscles locked and ready. He gives Rick one quick, almost miniscule, look out of the corner of his eye and Rick sees danger alright, but he doesn’t see risk. “Damn,” Daryl says, returning to the Walker. “What an ugly skank.” And then he lets his arrow fly and the moment is over.

They climb the stairs together quickly, watching for Walkers but encountering none. When they get to the top, Daryl stares anxiously at the chain and then starts pacing, bobbing on the balls of his feet, waiting for Rick to pull the cutters out of the bag. Rick does as quickly as he can and locks eyes with Daryl. Daryl nods and he cuts the lock, unfurls the chain from the door and then Daryl is banging the metal in and rushing through the doorway, crossbow up and yelling his brother’s name.

Rick runs after him and they cross the short metal plank and rush down the three short steps to where Rick had left Merle. Rick doesn’t see the hand at first, his view blocked by Daryl’s back, but then Daryl is screaming and turning and Rick doesn’t have enough time to react before he is staring down a crossbow, Daryl’s gray-blue eyes boring into him.

Rick’s hand is halfway to his gun, but it will do no good. He lifts his hand away from it in surrender. Daryl’s finger is on the trigger and he can see Daryl’s shoulders tense, just like he was when they were downstairs. Ready. Willing. Rick holds his eyes, stares back at him and wills Daryl to see his good intent.

_1:57 p.m._

Daryl knows enough about the world to know that if you ever pull on someone, you had better mean it and in the moment, he does. His brother is most likely dead and certainly not whole, and it’s this damn cop’s fault, this one with morals and smooth words. So Daryl whips around as quick as a snake, fully intending to beat Rick’s gun hand. And he does.

Only he can tell from Rick’s stance, from the brief surprise in his gaze, that Rick wouldn’t pull on him. Not unless Daryl did first. He locks eyes with Rick, studies him, and finds something he didn’t expect. Truth. No lies, no hate. Just simple facts: Merle was a danger. Merle was stopped. And Merle deserved it. Daryl squeezes his eyes shut hard. Of course he did. He always did. Which makes this harder, because it means in the end that Merle has left him again. That Merle couldn’t keep his damn ugly mouth shut and that he couldn’t wait one fucking day for his brother to come back to him. He never waits. Even though Daryl has always come back.

Daryl throws the crossbow down to his side and lets out a hard breath into the stale Atlanta air. Rick doesn’t raise his gun, but Daryl sees that he puts his hand closer to its position. Daryl turns because he can’t look at Rick right now, can’t bear to see anyone analyze the emotion in his face. He tells himself he has to get through this and it will be easier if he talks. So he swallows and he forces himself to say “I guess the saw blade was too dull for the handcuffs.” He kneels down and looks at his brother’s hand. “Ain’t that a bitch.”

He can hear Rick walking up to him, but is grateful that Rick has no words of platitudes or apologies. Daryl continues. “He must have used a tourniquet--maybe his belt.” He stands. “Be much more blood if he didn’t.” He scans the roof and then the trail of blood, pulls his crossbow up again to have it ready in case he needs it, and begins to track. He sees a second door to the roof and walks in, finding a set of lockers and bland gray walls. Rick is behind him. He can feel him the same as he can feel the humid air, the sun on his back, even though he doesn’t care at this point if Rick keeps following or if he leaves. “Merle!” Daryl calls. “You in here?” But he gets no response, just as predicted.

_2:03 p.m._

They go downstairs to an office complex and it’s then that Rick decides to reach out, tapping Daryl softly on the arm and bracing himself for an outburst. Instead, Daryl looks over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised in question. Rick marvels at the change--raw and explosive to silent and subtle. He nods and then motions for Daryl to take one of the office entrances and that he’ll take the other. He raises his gun and waits for Daryl to move forward first before he proceeds.

Daryl weaves through the abandoned furniture easily and then Rick sees a Walker come into view at the same time that he watches an arrow fly through the air to enter her forehead. Daryl walks from the side room, pulls the arrow out and motions Rick forward. Rick meets him and they enter the room trashed with papers and toppled furniture.

Two dead Walkers and a bloody wrench. “Had enough in him to take out these two son of a bitches one handed,” Daryl says and leans his crossbow on his leg, reloading it. Rick watches his motions, catalogues how familiar it is to Daryl, and then nods. He wars between flaring Daryl’s hopes to life by agreeing with him and preparing for the worst.

“Toughest asshole I ever met, my brother,” Daryl says and stares at Rick with that hard to read expression. “Feed him a hammer, he’d crap out nails.”

Rick decides that his best course of action is open honesty, so he comments, “Any man can pass out from blood loss, no matter how tough he is.”

Daryl doesn’t respond and Rick moves in front of him, scouting forward. They follow a trail of blood and Daryl yells his brother’s name to the room. Rick hisses and moves into him close, whispers low and threatening, his mouth next to Daryl’s ear. “We’re not alone here. Remember?”

Rick is used to being the voice of authority, the one that stops the room. But Daryl has none of it. He doesn’t even turn his face to Rick, doesn’t even shrug or acknowledge him other than biting out, “Screw that. He could be bleeding out. Said so yourself.”

Daryl moves forward into a kitchen area and Rick has no choice but to follow. The stove is lit and Rick sees a torn belt, blood, and a crushed flat iron all left scattered around the appliances.

“He cauterized the stump,” Rick says and stares at the carnage on the stove. He turns away, blocking flashes in his mind of Merle bent over, burning the blood away. Daryl turns to him now.

“Told you he was tough. Nobody can kill Merle, but Merle.”

Rick looks him dead in the eyes and nods his agreement, but speaks for the sake of something to say. “Don’t take that on faith.” He pauses and looks at the flat iron. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

“Yeah?” Daryl says and he’s turning, moving toward a busted window. “Didn’t stop him from busting out of this death trap.” He leans down, looks at the broken glass, the bloody rag left sitting on the window sill. Rick follows him to the window and sees the fire escape below.

“He left the building,” Rick says, nodding to himself and knowing that the chances of finding Merle have now dropped to nothing.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t he?” Daryl says and starts pacing, his nervous energy evident and dangerous. “He’s out there alone as far as he knows.” Daryl frowns hard and his pacing quickens. “Doing what he’s got to do. Surviving.”

Rick sighs. “His chances out there are small, Daryl.” He shakes his head. “And our chances of finding him are even worse.”

Daryl swings back into Rick’s personal space. “No worse than being handcuffed and left to rot by your sorry ass.” He moves forward, menacingly, but Rick refuses to step back. “You couldn't kill him. Ain’t so worried about some dumb dead bastard.”

Rick leans in to meet him, determined to show that Daryl won’t have the best of him. “What about a thousand dumb dead bastards? Different story?”

“Why don’t you take a tally?” Daryl snaps off. “Do what you want. I’m gonna go get him.”

He rushes past Rick to the window and Rick reacts quickly. He puts his hand up, on Daryl’s chest and Daryl reacts like he’s just touched a hot poker. He moves out of Rick’s way, yelling for Rick to get his hands off and then he’s in Rick’s face again. “You can’t stop me,” he tells Rick as he sways from foot to foot, all energy and nowhere to go.

Rick catalogs his features--the firm set jaw, the unflinching and unblinking eyes. He processes the way that Daryl jumped from him, the way that Daryl moves away when Rick leans too close. He locks eyes with Daryl’s pretty gray-blues and his breathing speeds up, his skin tingles, and Rick knows then and there that Daryl’s just been added to the very small group of men that Rick wants.

_2:17 p.m._

Daryl curses Merle for leaving the building, for not waiting. And what’s worse, his mind is doing quick calculations. For Merle to have cut his hand, walked down, cauterized it, and then left the building meant that he hadn’t waited even until morning for Daryl. Hadn’t even bothered to wait a whole five hours, he bets. Hell, Daryl is pretty sure that Merle started hacking at his wrist not even an hour after Rick and the others had driven away. He should have lost his hand, Daryl thinks, the bastard deserved it.

But still. Daryl has to go for him. Because kin is kin and he can’t leave Merle to die. So he gets in Rick’s face, tells him that no Walker is going to take Merle out. He puts all his anger, his frustrations, into his movements, comes at Rick hard, but the bastard won’t back down. So Daryl moves to the window. And Rick touches him.

Daryl jumps back and lets loose on him. “Get your hands off me!” He backs up further into the room, starts pacing for somewhere to put his emotion. He won’t be touched, he thinks, and he most certainly will not have this cop’s hands all over him with the risk that Daryl could do more than shove him away. That he could lean into Rick’s wiry frame, the honesty in his eyes.

“I don’t blame you,” Rick says, his body curved toward Daryl, the gateway between him and the fire escape. “He’s family. I get that. I went through hell to find mine. I know exactly how you feel.” Daryl stills himself, gazes into Rick’s eyes, seeing something there. “He can’t get that far with that injury,” Rick says and Daryl thinks the hell he can’t. It’s Merle Dixon.

“I could help you check a few blocks around,” Rick continues, “but only if we keep a level head.”

Rick’s gaze is on him, his body only inches away. Daryl stares him down, looks straight at him and finds Rick reflected back--lawful, paternal...and gay. But it’s not like Daryl has room to talk. So instead, he swallows hard, nods. “I could do that.”

Rick nods back at him and moves like he might follow through with a forward motion, but checks himself. He backs to the window, swings one leg out of it. “We look for him. If there’s no clear signs to track him, we head toward the guns.”

Daryl nods, thinking it’s the best compromise he’ll get.

_5:43 p.m._

Rick slings the bag of guns onto his back, puts the hat firmly on his head, and turns toward Daryl, nodding. Daryl curses himself for being a pansy-ass nancy boy who notices Rick’s confident swagger once the hat goes on. He thinks for a moment about taking it off of Rick and then he shifts uncomfortably.

They make their way to an alley before Rick speaks. “No sign of him? You tell me. You’re better at tracking.”

Daryl sighs and then shakes his head. “No. Could be anywhere.”

“We should head back to camp,” Rick says.

Daryl shakes his head. “Nah, you go back. I’m going to stay for the night. See if I can’t find any places around here where he might hole up.”

“It gets too dark, it’s going to be no good,” Rick says. “You can’t search out on your own.”

“Better on my own,” Daryl grunts. “Don’t have to watch any prick coppers who got too many handcuffs to throw around.”

“I said I’d help you look for him,” Rick says and then he wipes at his mouth. “Look,” he gets close again and the side of Daryl that’s next to Rick--the side that can feel his body heat--tenses, “we can come back tomorrow. Look for him, then. I promise. Better lighting. More of a chance.”

Daryl shrugs. “Merle be long gone by then,” he says.

Rick stares at Daryl and then shakes his head. “Then why are you looking for him? If he’s going to go, let him go. Come back with me to the camp.”

“He’s my brother,” Daryl bites out and then sets his jaw. He turns around and storms off down the alley, but he doesn’t get far before Rick’s hand is on his arm. Daryl can’t take it, so he lets himself simply react. He swings around and he clocks Rick, straight in the jaw. “I told you to get your hands off me,” Daryl yells and keeps walking, but then Rick grabs him and turns him around, throws him up against the building and is in his face before Daryl can think to swing a second time.

“You need to cool down,” Rick growls, his body close by Daryl’s, blocking him from the alley, his hand in the air, hovering above Daryl’s chest.

Daryl shoves him away, but Rick doesn’t move more than a few inches. “You need to stop touching me, you fucking queer.”

Rick locks eyes with him again and Daryl tenses for another swing if he needs to. But then Rick looks at the ground, works his jaw back and forth and nods. “Sorry,” he says. “But you can’t go off half-cocked looking for a man that’s not even going to be there.”

“What the hell do you care?” Daryl asks, pushing himself from the wall and past Rick.

“We need to pull together,” Rick says. “All of us. The whole group. We only have each other now.”

“Yeah?” Daryl says and then for extra emphasis, he lifts his crossbow right at Rick’s forehead. “What if I don’t want to be in your little pussy group, huh? What if I want to just go and find my brother on my own and let you dicks get what you deserve?”

“Then go,” Rick says and steps up to the crossbow, never looking away from Daryl’s hard stare. “Do it. Or accept that I’m trying to help you.”

_5:50 p.m._

Rick watches Daryl, the curl of his mouth, the hand on the crossbow leveled at his face. And then Daryl lowers the crossbow and then he kneels on the pavement, puts his head between his knees. Rick doesn’t move a muscle, worried that other sudden movements will set him off again. “We should go back to camp,” he says.

“Fuck camp,” Daryl growls to the concrete.

Rick takes his chances and steps forward, kneels so that he’s in front of Daryl. Daryl snaps his eyes up to Rick’s face. “Don’t you fucking touch me,” he spits out.

Rick holds up both hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Fuck you did. I saw you looking.”

Rick opens his mouth to deny it, but figures that will only make the situation worse, so instead he nods. “Sorry,” he says again.

Daryl shrugs and stands up. “Didn’t mean to call you--” Daryl scoffs and shrugs. “Didn’t mean it.”

Rick stands too. “I know. We got to figure out what we’re doing, though.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Daryl says and he’s back to pacing. “I’m finding my brother.”

Rick puts his hands on his belt and looks off to the city skyline. “We look tonight. We go back in the morning. Deal?”

Daryl pauses and gives him a once over. “Why you staying?”

Rick shrugs. “Because I want to help.”

_10:18 p.m._

They spend the next four hours looking for Merle in local buildings. Daryl tells Rick the places where his brother is most likely to be and none of it surprises Rick: places with booze, weapons, and loose women--except there are none of those left in Atlanta. They don’t find him and they don’t even run across any good signs of his whereabouts.

Rick is beginning to get tired, but he still follows Daryl as they round another alley, looking for Merle. But he is snapped out of his fog as Daryl yells “ _Shit!_ ” and backpedals fast toward Rick. Rick takes one look in front of Daryl, sees the herd moving toward them and then runs as fast as he can in the opposite direction.

Beside him, Daryl launches himself at a building and yells for Rick to follow. As Rick grabs the first rung of the fire escape, Daryl is already halfway up floor number one. They rush up the four story building, Daryl climbing to the top and turning back to help pull Rick onto the roof. Daryl’s skin is electric where he touches him, but Rick doesn’t have time for that now.

Lucky for them, the building is an apartment complex nestled right next to another on the street so the jump to the next roof is easy to make. Daryl finds a door, busts it in and is running down the steps just as Rick reaches the doorway. Rick shuts the door as best as he can, finding there to be no latch and nothing to hold it, before he jogs down the stairs to where Daryl is waiting on the landing of the fourth floor. Daryl lifts his crossbow into position and opens the stairway doors slowly, walking into the apartment hallway crouched and ready.

Rick follows him close, gun up and waiting. They could stumble upon a Walker in the dark and Rick wants as much reaction time as possible. Daryl creeps toward the end of the hallway where an apartment door is cracked. He enters slowly and looks around at the abandoned kitchen, living room, hallway, before checking the two bedrooms in the back to make sure they’re empty.

And then he’s standing and whispering to Rick, “clear.” Rick stands too and walks to the apartment door, closes it and hits the deadbolt. He checks the apartment out inch by inch and as he is, Daryl pssts him. “Best view of the street is the left bedroom,” he says. “Some moonlight, too, so we’re not tripping over our own asses.”

Rick follows him back and finds that he’s right. From that angle, they can see the Walkers gathered at the opposite building, the moonlight streaming in and giving enough light to at least see the room by. Rick scans the street. “Too many of them to go down there again,” he says. “I think this is it for tonight.”

Daryl nods and stands next to him, looking down. “Yeah. We’re not going to find Merle.” His shoulders fall, deflated. “Head back to camp in the morning, I guess.”

_10:49 p.m._

They check the apartment for supplies and fill the backpack with useful items--Tylenol, antibiotic ointment, a pocket knife, scissors, and three lighters. They even find a variety pack of granola bars still in their expiration date and a bottle of Pepsi that’s more or less good. They sit down on the bedspread to have a meager dinner and regather their strength.

Rick doesn’t offer to start conversation, but Daryl needs something to get his mind off of his brother, Atlanta, and the shitty ass prospects that have become his life. So he turns to Rick and asks him what made him want to be a cop.

Rick sits there, half into a peanut butter bar, and shrugs. “Don’t know, really. I always liked rules, you know? Something to live by. I wanted to be a helper. A protector. I used to play baseball in school and I figured out I was good at reacting fast to things. Thought it might be a good skillset, so I joined the academy. Found I was pretty good at it, so I stuck there.”

Daryl grunts. “Always thought that pigs just wanted an excuse to knock someone else’s teeth in.”

Rick smiles in the dark and Daryl hates himself for noticing the curve of his mouth, the glint in his eyes. “Well, there’s that,” he says. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Daryl asks and scoffs. “Why’d I decide to be a redneck country hick? Is that what you're asking?” Rick tries to explain, but Daryl keeps going. “Don’t know. Thought it’d be fun to have a strung out brother and a Dad who wouldn’t stop fucking the whole female staff of Applebees.”

“I meant,” Rick says, “what did you do before all this happened?”

Daryl shrugs. “Stayed in the woods mostly. Sold some furs. Taught people to hunt sometimes. Crossbow, skinning, fishing. All that. Spent some summers at a couple of ranches, helping with horse riding lessons. Odd things here or there.”

“You like being outside, huh?” Rick asks.

“No shit, dumbass,” Daryl says, rolling his eyes. After a pause, he continues. “Breeze feels good. Sun, too. It’s like you know exactly what it is. You know what to do with it. Never knew what to do with these fucking buildings, man.” He looks around the bedroom walls, feeling smaller and weaker than he ever wanted to feel. “Living in a square like you’re a rat or something. Didn’t seem right.”

_12:38 a.m._

Rick offers to stay on watch and Daryl refuses, most likely because he doesn’t trust him. Daryl counters for himself to stay on watch and Rick refuses, because he is sure that he doesn’t trust Daryl just yet. So they end up half laying on the bed, leaning on the headboard, neither one offering to sleep or leave.

They go through the easy conversations first--hunting, cars, sports, jobs. After a while, they run out of conversational topics and drift to silence, which isn’t good for either of them. Rick is sure Daryl is thinking of his brother. And Rick is thinking of Shane and Lori. And none of those thoughts are good.

But Rick has another question that has nothing to do with Merle or Shane or Lori. He turns to Daryl and studies his profile in the dark bedroom--the set of his shoulders, the lean grace of his chest and his hips. Rick’s attraction to men is small, only a handful throughout his whole life. But Rick knows enough about himself to know that when he finally does notice a man, the attraction is raw. Hungry and fierce.

Rick wouldn’t ask. Except it’s after midnight and he doesn’t have anything else to say and, besides, the curiosity is killing him. “You gay?”

Daryl whips around and glares at him. Rick figures he can’t back down now, so he asks again. “I mean, I thought so. Was I wrong?”

Daryl grunts. “...no,” he says and shrugs. He leans his head back against the headboard and stares at the wall. “Doesn’t mean that you can just do whatever you want to a man.”

“No!” Rick says, waving his hand. “No, I get that. I’m sorry for…” He isn’t really sure how to voice it, so he lets it hang in the air.

“For being as handsy as a girl at prom?” Daryl finishes and in the darkness Rick blushes. He nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Daryl says. “Was just being pissy anyway.” He frowns. “Long day.”

“Yeah,” Rick says. “ _Long_ day.” He sighs. “So...how’d you know?”

“How’d I know what?” Daryl asks, looking at him.

“That you were gay?”

Daryl groans. “We gotta do this now?”

Rick shrugs. “I don’t have anything else to do. You tell me. I’ll tell you.”

Daryl closes his eyes. “Knew since I was little, you know? Never interested in girls.” He scoffs. “Merle always tried to get me to be, but it never worked out for him. Think he always suspected. When I was in high school, I fooled around a little with guys. But, you know, I was lying to myself. Thought it was just a phase or something. Then I met this guy, Jeff. Punk ass bitch. Horrible selfish prick, you know? But we had fun together, I guess. Stayed with him for about a year and a half before I realized he was shit. He moved to Kansas City and I just kept on going. But after him, I guess I figured out that I wasn’t really straight material.”

“I am,” Rick says. “I mean, I sort of am. I did love Lori.” He pauses. “I do. I guess the question is if she loves me.” Rick studies the opposite wall, wonders what color it is in the sunlight. “I’ve always liked guys better, though. I mean, for the sex at least. I told Lori the night that I proposed to her. Told her it would be hard for me not to…” Rick trails off and swallows.

“And the bitch still said yes?” Daryl asks.

Rick smiles. “Yeah. Did even more, too. We came up with rules. Remember how I said I liked rules? I can do any guy I want. No kissing, though. But anyone.” Rick frowns and pinches the bridge of his nose. “It was a stupid idea to pick Shane, though. I can see that now.”

Daryl raises an eyebrow and then laughs. “Aw, man. You and that bastard.” He shakes his head. “I guess I could see it.”

After that, Rick falls into silence again, too much Lori and Shane in his head to talk anymore. Daryl leans his head back, closes his eyes. Rick knows he isn’t sleeping, but it at least gives them peace.

_1:26 a.m._

Each of them have slid down the bed a little more, so that now they are only barely propping themselves up. They have nothing left to do, so they start “20 Questions.” Rick is shit at it, Daryl learns. He always thinks it’s a famous person and more times than not, he guesses Brad Pitt. So Daryl just goes with an object and he wins 90% of the time. When it’s his turn to ask, he always gets it within 10 rounds and Rick is floored that he has such a good record, even though Daryl thinks that for a smart guy, Rick is really fucking stupid at figuring out the “bigger than a breadbox” technique.

_2:47 a.m._

“They’re fucking, aren’t they?” Rick asks him, fully spread out on the bed next to Daryl. Daryl is on his back, his arm slung behind the pillow he’s resting on and one leg propped up. Rick has crawled under the sheets because he started complaining of the cold and his head is tilted away from Daryl. “Lori and Shane, they’re…”

Daryl doesn’t tell him no, but he doesn’t tell him yes, either. Really, it’s none of his business what the ex-cop is giving to Rick’s wife and he doesn’t want to be the one to cause a scene when they return to camp. But his silence must be enough, and Rick turns to lay on his side, facing Daryl. “How long?” He asks.

Daryl looks at him and sighs. “Since I got there, at least.”

Rick buries his head in his hand. “I lost both of them, then. To each other.”

“Don’t know if you have much room to talk. Her cheating on you when you’ve been cheating on her.”

He expects Rick to argue or to make excuses, but he doesn’t. He simply nods. “We were never good for each other. But what do we do now? With Carl and all this shit…”

“Guess you keep going as you have been,” Daryl says, even though he doesn’t know if that’s the right answer.

“What, her fucking Shane and me getting my kicks elsewhere?”

Daryl suddenly realizes with stark clarity the precarious position he’s in. He shifts on the bed and wills himself not to move away from Rick, but not to him, either. He doesn’t particularly want to be Rick’s bitch on the side--the replacement for his wife and his cop fuck buddy. But then again, Daryl realizes that Rick isn’t unattractive and, more than that, he figures that if Rick is the leader of their little gang, it wouldn’t hurt at all to have Rick get a soft spot for him. Daryl is going to have to fit in somewhere and Rick’s bed is as good of a place as any, he guesses. But he’s not going to make the first move. So he lays there, muscles tense, and waits for what Rick will do in the dark.

Daryl stares at the ceiling and from the other side of the bed, he hears Rick shift closer. And then Rick is right in his personal space, leaning down. His head nuzzles underneath Daryl’s chin and Rick is kissing his neck, softly, slowly. Daryl swallows and Rick sucks on his Adam’s apple.

Rick kicks the covers off himself and then slides his body over Daryl’s, straddling him. Daryl grunts and opens his legs for Rick to settle on him, putting his hands lightly on Rick’s sides. Rick keeps kissing his neck, making little moaning sounds that shouldn’t turn Daryl on. Rick reaches down, touches him through his pants.

“Fuck,” Daryl says, “if you’re going to do it, do it.” And then they are grabbing at each other’s clothing, throwing them off, pressing skin to skin. Daryl grabs Rick’s hands before his pants are off, forces him to stop. “We’re missing something. Go look for it.”

Rick nods, leans down in that familiar motion as if he’s going to kiss him, but falters at the last moment. He gets off Daryl and heads toward the bathroom. Daryl lays back, squeezes his eyes shut and asks himself what he’s doing. It’s not too late to back out. But in a moment, Rick walks in, covers him and Daryl finds it easy to rock up into Rick, to lean his neck into Rick’s touch.

Rick hands him a bottle. “We’re in luck,” he says and smiles at Daryl. Daryl blinks and thinks it’s totally unfair for a man to have that attractive of a smile. He wants to kiss it off Rick, but instead he grunts and lifts his hips to Rick’s.

“You’re in luck, you prick,” Daryl says and Rick smiles again and is back to marking Daryl’s neck like he owns it.

Rick shimmies out of his last clothing and then they are naked together. Daryl takes a deep breath and asks himself one more time if he wants to push Rick away. Instead, he grabs Rick’s chin, forcing him to look Daryl in the eye. “You can fuck me, you asshole,” he says, “but you can’t be thinking about your bitch of a wife or that bastard of a partner you have. You got it?”

Rick stares down at him and then nods, once. He leans down, his body plastered to Daryl’s and whispers in Daryl’s ear. “How could I think of anything else with how pretty you are?”

Daryl rolls his eyes. “You fucking dick,” he says and tilts his head to kiss him, before he remembers. He grunts and grabs Rick’s hand, moves it down to his cock. Rick starts moving his hand, keeps kissing Daryl’s chest, his shoulder, his collarbone. Daryl pops the bottle open, starts preparing himself and Rick watches him with hungry eyes.

And then Rick is maneuvering Daryl’s leg and pressing into him, moaning loudly into the apartment. Daryl shushes him, but Rick keeps moaning and moving in Daryl, deep, but slow and of course he would be the kind of guy who likes it slow, Daryl thinks.

With each thrust, Rick gets louder and Daryl is distracted by thoughts of Walkers. “Shut the _fuck_ up,” Daryl whispers to him and grabs the back of his neck to pull him in and make him quiet down. Rick turns to the side at the last second.

“Sorry,” he whispers and rearranges himself on Daryl. He puts his mouth on Daryl’s neck and starts thrusting again, this time his grunts and cries muffled by Daryl’s skin. Daryl stares at the ceiling, wraps his legs around Rick and lets himself be lost for a moment in the smooth rhythm of the cop’s body, how they fit together.

He becomes increasingly aware of Rick’s mouth on his neck, right below his jaw line. Of how Rick is sucking, biting. He pushes Rick’s head away. “You’re going to mark it,” Daryl says, if he hasn’t already.

“I mean to,” Rick says, eyes bright in the darkness.

“They’ll see it,” Daryl tells him.

Rick leans down, kisses his chin. “So?”

In response, Daryl places Rick’s head on his shoulder and Rick latches onto him, biting down. Daryl tightens himself around Rick and Rick bucks forward into him. Daryl wraps one arm around Rick’s back, puts the other in his hair and lets Rick cover him, head to toe in need.

Rick speeds up, his thrusts still deep and long. He clings to Daryl, moaning into his shoulder, gasping out Daryl’s name. It becomes hard and edgy. The price of comfort, Daryl thinks, staring at the ceiling of the Atlanta apartment, abandoned and adopted again. But Rick’s body on his is smooth, warm, and it fits together with Daryl’s like matching china, like locking in gears.

And then Rick is coming in him, hard, shaking with the power of want and Daryl pulls him in tight, lets him ride it out. He thinks that when Rick pulls off of him, settles to the side, he’ll take his clothes and go into the other room. Finish himself off, sure that Rick won’t think of it himself.

But then Rick leans up, kisses his chin again and is pulling out and sliding down his body. Daryl leans up on his elbows, ready to leave, but Rick suddenly stops halfway down, locks eyes with Daryl, and sucks Daryl in.

Daryl gasps out and then bites his lip to be silent. Rick’s eyes smile at Daryl as his mouth wraps around Daryl’s length, taking him in most of the way. Daryl throws his head back, looks at the ceiling because he can’t look at Rick without this being over right then and there.

Rick licks up the underside and Daryl starts counting to keep himself away from the edge. And then Rick’s mouth is off of him and Rick is whispering to him in the darkness, “look at me.” Daryl does. He can’t do anything but. And then Rick smiles that ridiculously gorgeous smile and goes down on him again. He sucks hard and Daryl can’t take it. He arches up off the bed, bites his lip again and grunts as he bucks into Rick’s mouth, coming hard. Rick stays on him and Daryl watches in complete disbelief as the cop swallows.

It takes everything in Daryl not to grab him, drag him up and kiss everything out of him, taste him. Instead, Daryl falls back on the bed, covers his own eyes with his hand. “God, you fucking dickweed,” he says.

Rick crawls up over him again, lays on his side beside Daryl and nuzzles his neck. Daryl wraps an arm around Rick and brings him in.

_9:35 a.m._

Rick’s body jumps and he wakes with a start. The apartment is flooded with light, the dull yellow walls glinting at him. Rick sits up and blinks in surprise, realizing he must have fallen asleep. After…

He looks at Daryl, who is lying on his stomach. Rick’s arm is trapped under Daryl’s chest and their legs are tangled together. Rick takes a moment to look at Daryl’s sleeping expression, how soft it looks in contrast to his defensiveness when he’s awake. Rick has a flash of a possibility--of leaning down, kissing Daryl awake. Of falling into each other’s arms again. Saying fuck the camp, they’ll stay here, the two of them.

But the moment passes. Because that isn’t what this is. So he pulls his arm out, untangles himself and crawls from the bed. “Daryl,” he whispers and Daryl snaps awake. “Morning,” Rick tells him.

Daryl grunts and rolls to the side, quickly putting his clothes back on. Rick follows suit and they pack up, gather their things and check the streets. Walkerless. For now.

Neither one talks of it. They don’t speak as they make their way back to the car, find it missing, guess that Merle has stolen it, find a second car and drive back to camp.

_10:18 a.m._

They pull into disaster. An obviously wrecked campsite. Rick jumps out of the car and runs forward while Daryl hangs back, watching again. Rick finds his family, envelops his son in an embrace. Lori is there, Daryl sees. And Shane. He looks around the camp, sees all the dead Walkers. Sees Amy. Sees Jim, partitioned off, his shirt bleeding from the bite.

Daryl shuts his emotions off, the feeling of _they deserved this_ and sets about helping. He axes the Walkers’ skulls in, watches Carol bash in Ed’s. Later, he gathers the bodies with the others, helps burn the Walkers, bury their own dead. He ignores the way that Shane yells at Rick for not being there, ignores when Lori and Rick disappear by themselves--tries not to guess if they’re fucking.

Daryl doesn’t know what any of this is. Doesn’t know how they all fit together or how they’ll all make it. And he doesn’t think about the one thing he does know--how his body and Rick’s sing for each other as they pass too close by. How they lock eyes sometimes. How they understand, trust, and want.


	2. Part II: 14 Hours in the CDC

_7:24 p.m._

The vehicles park and Daryl grabs his crossbow, a rifle in the other hand. He hangs toward the back of the group in case he’s needed as Rick and Shane lead the way across the field of bodies, both military and civilian. Daryl checks to make sure that none of the littered corpses stand and in between scanning the scene, he watches Rick and Shane--how they move together as if they are supposed to, but are still not quite in sync.

Shane tells everyone to keep moving and stay quiet. They get close to the doors and Rick tries to open one.

“Nothing,” Shane says and pushes against it, pounding for good measure. Daryl looks around, sees the sun quickly escaping the horizon and his nerves begin to take hold of him. He and Rick in the dark is one thing. A group with children is something else altogether.

And sure enough, no place is safe. Daryl spots a Walker, yells to the group as he takes it down with the crossbow. “You led us into a graveyard,” he snaps at Rick and moves forward. He thinks if he can get there, put his hand on Rick’s side, tell him that they need to leave for Carl and Lori and everyone else, that Rick will turn away. He thinks he can calm Rick if only he can touch him, but then Shane is there, pushing Daryl backwards, yelling at him to shut up, and Daryl seethes with barely concealed rage.

“Fort Benning, Rick,” Shane says and Daryl hates him. “Still an option.”

The others argue, but Rick is still looking at the doors. Daryl takes one step forward toward Rick and then Rick reacts, waves his hand over his shoulder and yells that the camera moved.

“You imagined it,” Dale says.

“It’s dead, man,” Shane tells him. “Automated device. It’s gears, okay?”

As everyone crowds around Rick, Daryl looks to the camera, sees it move himself. He looks at Rick and for a minute they lock eyes. Daryl nods once and Rick turns back, fights past Shane to beat on the door.

“I know you’re in there,” Rick cries. “I know you can hear me.”

Shane turns to the group. “Everybody get back to the cars now!” Daryl steps quickly aside, knowing he’ll be no part of Shane’s leadership. Knowing he’ll stay until Rick goes.

Rick begs to the camera and Lori is running up to him, but to no avail. Shane grabs Rick around his chest, pulls him away and Daryl watches Rick’s body pull from Shane’s, watches Shane toss him forward. And then the door is open, blinding light pouring out. Daryl moves toward Rick, vindicated.

_7:31 p.m._

Rick feels safety as he enters the confines of the CDC, sees Jenner standing there alive and unaffected by the outside world. The others file in behind him and Rick begs Jenner to let them stay. He hears Jenner say that the doors won’t open again, even if he won’t realize the importance of that until later.

For now, though, with the doors closed and the Walkers outside, Rick feels like he can finally breathe again. Shane gets close to him in point position, but Rick wishes it was Daryl, sure as the sunrise with his trusty crossbow and unhesitating aim. But Jenner is no threat and they are quickly hurried into an elevator and brought down.

Carol asks if they’re underground and Jenner tells her not to think about it. Rick glances behind him to Daryl, thinks about what he said about knowing what the outdoors held and not knowing what to do with buildings. He wants to slip to the back of the group, walk closer to him. But he’s the leader and his place is up front, asking Jenner the difficult questions.

_8:32 p.m._

The food is hot and the wine is cold and that’s all Daryl cares about at the moment. Everyone is safe and despite the fact that he hangs toward the back of the group, no one tells him to leave or that he’s not a part of it all. For a second he doesn’t feel so tense, even though his gut tells him that he’s not meant to be hundreds of feet underground. That they’re not meant to be here and it can’t last.

But then Rick looks at him over the table, locks his gaze onto Daryl and Daryl thinks how clear his eyes look--as blue as the Georgia sky--and for the moment, he smiles, enjoys himself.

Lori and Rick play fight over letting Carl drink wine and, true to fashion, Carl hates it. Daryl himself wishes for a hard whiskey or even a damn Guinness, but he’ll take what he can get.

Because Daryl is feeling in the spirit, he cracks a joke at Glenn, tells him he wants to see how red his face can get and the table laughs. For a second, they feel like a group. A real group. One of friends and family. Not one of tears and pain and heartbreak.

Everyone is happy, sound. And then Shane opens his mouth. Daryl wants to strangle Shane himself, but Rick cuts in, says “we’re celebrating, Shane. Don’t need to do this now.” That should be it, Daryl thinks. But Shane ignores him, presses on. And then they are thrown back into the world of the apocalypse, and the tears and pain and heartbreak they had so readily left behind come flooding in again: abandonment, no hope, people opting out.

Daryl paces because he can’t sit still and ends up right behind Rick. He figures it’s the best place to be. The closest he can get to warmth and comfort in these concrete walls. Rick spares him a glance and Glenn chastises Shane: “Dude, you are such a buzzkill, man.” Daryl agrees.

_11:01 p.m._

Rick feels like he’s crawling out of his skin with energy. At every turn, he feels like he should be lifting a rifle, but there is nothing to shoot here, nothing to worry about. His mind races with what to do and, indecisive, he goes to thank Jenner. If Rick was in a better state of mind, he would have noticed how Jenner listens to him too calmly, how he says “it’ll all be okay” in a voice like he believes it. Like there’s something planned.

Only Rick is too drunk to see it. And after pouring out his soul to Jenner-- _we’d have died out there_ \--he doesn't want to see it. So he stumbles from the room and stops in the hallway, clutching the mostly empty bottle of wine. His mind races between possibilities--Lori, her soft hair, her angles and the familiarity of her body. Shane, the rough cut of his features, the way he smiles and the way that Rick always puts his hands in his hair, tangles them in.

And then Rick thinks of Daryl’s eyes and the thoughts of Shane and Lori are washed away as easy as footprints in the sand. He thinks of the way that Daryl’s body bends to him, thinks of the teeth marks that would still be in Daryl’s shoulder. He thinks of what it would feel like to have Daryl’s hands all over him, Daryl’s body surrounding him, taking him.

Rick stumbles easily down the hall, finds his way to Daryl’s room like he’s being pulled there by some unseen force driving the two of them together, pushing Rick to something bigger. Brighter.

_11:29 p.m._

Daryl is not that drunk. A little bit of wine isn’t going to get him anywhere. He showers and then finds a quiet room down from the others and pulls out a cot. Figures if he has the option of both, he might as well take the more comfortable one since there’s no guarantees when he’ll get it again.

He’s about to call it a night and collapse, exhausted, when Rick bangs into his room, all drunken swagger and fiery eyes. Daryl opens his mouth to tell him he doesn’t thinking puking is sexy, but then Rick is closing the door, grabbing him, and nuzzling up under his neck like a cat in heat. Daryl can’t help it. He goes a little cross-eyed.

“I want you,” Rick mutters into his skin. “So bad. I can’t stop thinking about you.” He puts his hands under Daryl’s shirt, bites at his jaw. “I want you to fuck me seven ways from Sunday.” He chuckles. “Take me like it’s the last time you’re ever going to come, baby.” Rick purrs into his ear and grabs Daryl’s ass.

Daryl gets both of Rick’s hands and pulls them away from his body, pushing Rick just a couple of inches back so he can look at him. “You’re drunk off your _ass_ ,” Daryl notes, in case Rick didn’t know.

Rick just smiles at him and studies his lips. “You’re so goddamn pretty. How are you so pretty?”

Daryl rolls his eyes up at the ceiling and Rick takes that second to curl in again, put his neck back in the groove where Daryl’s chin meets his neck and starts licking. Rick keeps muttering things into his skin--about Daryl’s eyes, about his body. About how Rick can’t think straight because all he sees is Daryl. And Daryl sighs. Because he’s good at resisting temptation, but no man can resist this--Rick Grimes all pooled up under him, begging him for it.

So Daryl throws him down and straddles him. Rick moans loudly and puts his hands on Daryl’s hips, digging in through his jeans. Daryl slaps a hand down across his mouth. “Be _quiet_ , you stupid son of a bitch,” Daryl tells him, “you want your wife to hear?”

“Fuck her,” Rick mutters and reaches up, grabbing for Daryl.

Daryl sighs and keeps his hand over Rick’s mouth while he unhooks his jeans, pushes them down his hips. “Here you go, baby,” Daryl says and then scoots closer so that he’s sitting more on Rick’s stomach. “Something to keep that loud mouth occupied.”

Rick doesn’t need to be told twice to lean up and start sucking at Daryl. The angle is awkward and Rick can’t quite take him all in, but he does a good job at licking the head and it’s enough to keep him busy. Daryl throws off his shirt and digs in his jeans for the bottle that he took from the Atlanta apartment, figuring they would need it again.

He hands it to Rick, tells him to undress and is glad that that is enough to keep Rick occupied. Daryl throws off the rest of his clothes and then waits for Rick to drunkenly get ready. Rick is laughing almost hysterically by the time he’s naked and prepared and is clinging to Daryl again, wrapping his legs around Daryl’s waist before Daryl is really in position.

Daryl rolls his eyes, wondering why he’s even obliging drunk Rick, but then Rick nudges Daryl’s chin with his nose and lays back, looks up at him with need and trust. Daryl can’t help himself, even though he knows he’s supposed to. He leans down and kisses Rick, all deep and wanting and meaningful. Rick lets loose, moaning into Daryl’s mouth and kisses back just as thoroughly. Daryl loses himself in the moment, forgets that he’s supposed to be fucking Rick and not just kissing every thought out of his body.

But then Rick slaps at Daryl’s arm. “No kissing,” he says. “Fuck me.” Daryl pulls back and nods. He positions himself and is just ready to slide in when Rick pulls his mouth down and captures it again. This time, it’s Daryl who moans.

Rick wiggles his ass down toward Daryl and Daryl manages to keep kissing Rick like he’s going to suffocate him while still pushing forward and finding the right angle. Rick pants into Daryl’s mouth and it’s the sexiest thing Daryl has ever felt and he bucks forward harder than he should.

But Rick jerks up into him, pressing himself as hard as he can against Daryl. He throws his head back and Daryl just barely manages to slap his hand over Rick’s mouth before he’s crying out. “DAMN, son,” Daryl says and growls. “ _Be quiet_.”

“I can’t,” Rick says against his mouth. “I can’t with you.” So Daryl shuts him up again, mouth on mouth and then Daryl really is fucking him, hard and fast and it’s not too long before Rick is arching and coming and Daryl is coming himself, straight up inside him, Rick’s nails digging into his back.

When it’s over, Rick lets his head fall back against the cot, breathing hard and fast. Daryl leans down, kisses Rick’s throat this time and then moves to his lips. Rick jumps, looks at him with panic and something else that Daryl can’t process. And then Rick is squirming out of bed, apologizing and stuttering. He grabs his clothes, throws them on and leaves. Daryl stares after him, confused and alone. In the distance, he hears a door open, hears Rick stumble in.

_7:48 a.m._

Rick feels like shit. Everything from his head to his toes ache and the artificial light is killing him. What’s worse than that, though, is that he feels like the biggest dick in the world after how he treated Daryl. He gets up early and heads to the room where they all ate last night, hoping that Daryl is there. But, of course, he isn’t.

Rick sits all alone, his elbows on the table, hands tucked on the back of his neck, head bent down toward the smooth metal. He thinks about Daryl’s mouth, how he kissed him. He thinks about what it felt to have Daryl’s lips on his neck. How he wanted to stay there for the rest of his life.

Of course, Rick isn’t that good about admitting these things, which is the problem. He sighs to the table. If he was braver, he would march back into Lori’s room, tell her it’s over because he’s never felt as complete as he has in the arms of another man...and then that would be that. Then he could slide up next to Daryl and hold him and be held. And Shane could take Lori away and everyone could be happy. But Rick is too much of a coward for that.

_8:15 a.m._

Daryl slides in just as Jenner is leading them all away and Rick wonders if he had planned it. This time, as the doctor takes them all to the main room, Rick hangs back, walks side-by-side with Daryl. No one notices, everyone too caught up in Jenner or each other--Shane never taking his eyes off Lori.

“I’m sorry,” Rick whispers to him and wonders when Daryl will get tired of hearing that. Daryl shrugs, but says nothing. “No, I mean, I really am. I…”

“Need to be more proud of yourself, man,” Daryl says and Rick blinks, wonders how Daryl can know his whole life so easily. “It’s clear you wanted it. Said no cause you thought you should have.”

Rick nods. “I know. Do you...we need to stop?”

Daryl shrugs and looks at the walls, whispers to Rick. “No. You need to stop being a dick, though.” Daryl walks off, quickening his pace. He turns back to Rick. “Or at least be quiet. _Damn_.”

_8:17 a.m._

Daryl slides into the main room right behind Rick and sets himself apart from the group, not feeling it this morning. He doesn’t want to look at Lori’s stupid face. Doesn’t want to answer questions from too perceptive Dale or make small talk with Glenn. He listens to Jenner intently, not having anything else to do. Jenner shows them the inside of the brain and Shane asks what all those lights are. Daryl looks over at him and inwardly groans. How could Rick have been doing such a dumbass?

Jenner explains what he knows about the phenomena--his patient, the death and resurrection, the second death. Daryl listens quietly, itching to do something and knowing there’s nothing to do. Then Jenner tells them about the rest of the world. How there’s nothing anywhere and no hope left of a cure. Daryl rubs at his eyes, mutters that he wants to get drunk again.

Then Dale asks Jenner about the clock. Jenner has no direct answers, but they all know.

_8:54 a.m._

The lights go out. The air, too, and Daryl is thrown instantly into a panicked state. He hates buildings. Hates everything modern. Despises the fact that it they go underground, things like _air_ go out. Outside, in the sun and the trees, there is always air. Even if there are now Walkers, too.

Daryl leans out of his door, asks “What’s going on? Why is everything turned off?”

Jenner walks by, sweeps the liquor bottle from Daryl’s hand and walks on, without so much as a please or thank you. Daryl’s blood boils and then runs cold.

He rushes after him, trying to get information, but Jenner gives none. They enter the main room and from the side, Rick comes running in from checking the generators. He rushes to Jenner’s right side, Daryl on Jenner’s left, and it’s as he should be. Both there, ready to do what they’ll have to.

Rick motions at Daryl to step back, and Daryl does, figures he’ll give the man space to work as this is what Rick is good at. Jenner pauses at the steps that lead to the work stations and holds the bottle to Daryl, who angrily grabs it, bringing it back to his side. He figures he’s either pushing out of this hellhole or getting thirty minutes of alcohol into his system, one or the other.

Jenner keeps explaining things to them and right now, Daryl couldn’t give one flying fuck. He’s itching to get out of here and Rick is too. Rick tells Shane to back down from going at Jenner and then is yelling at everyone to gather their things. Daryl doesn’t have to be told twice.

But then the alarm is blaring, loud and piercing and they are rushing at the door, only it comes down in a sheet of frosted plastic, hard and unbreakable. Daryl turns to Jenner and reacts the only way he can when he’s between a rock and a hard place. He comes at Jenner fast and hears Rick in the background yelling for Shane. Daryl has the bottle up and ready to smash it over Jenner’s condescending face when Shane grabs him around the waist and hauls him back. Daryl pushes away from him, swirls around. He glares at Rick across the room, but retreats to the back.

Jenner turns to Rick. “I told you once that front door closed, it wouldn’t open again. You heard me say that.” Daryl watches the panic in Rick’s face, the fury.

And then, Jenner tells them. H.I.Ts. Explosives. Igniting oxygen, structures, air. Life. The group disintegrates. Lori steps toward and Rick pulls her in, hugs Carl into them. Carol hugs her little girl. The others curl into themselves, look around for a way out. Daryl has enough of it. He’s not going to sit here and watch them go up in flames. He’s not going to sit on his ass like a goddamn pansy and not try. Just _try_.

He throws the bottle at the wall, yells at Jenner to open the door. Shane rushes at it with a fire axe and Daryl grabs one that T-Dog throws to him and goes at it side-by-side. Tries not to think of how alike he and Shane are in that moment. Rick stands behind them, trying to collect himself or trying to think or trying to do something that Daryl can’t comprehend right now.

They make no progress. Not even one damn scratch. Daryl turns back to the group, tries to make eye contact with Rick, but he’s back to arguing with Jenner. “I don’t want _this_ ,” Rick says in the deadliest of voices.

Shane rushes to his side and Daryl moves forward, wishing he had got there first. “Can’t make a dent,” Shane says, leaning against a work station.

Jenner looks at them, haughty, and says with every drip of condescension, “Those doors are designed to withstand a rocket launcher.”

Daryl can’t stand the man’s face anymore. He throws up his axe and comes at Jenner, hard. “Well, your head ain’t,” he yells as he swings. Dale blocks him, but it’s Rick who touches him first, pushes him all the way back.

“I got it,” Rick whispers to him, low and steady. “ _I got it_. I can talk him out of this.”

Daryl looks him in the eye, sees his confidence. “Trust me?” Rick asks and touches Daryl’s wrist just slightly, the one that’s holding the axe. Daryl nods quickly, puts his head down and turns away from Jenner, still watching him preditoraily, but giving all his faith to Rick.

And then Jenner tells them all. “Last night, you said you knew it was just a matter of time before everyone you loved was dead.”

Lori looks up in shock. Shane asks Rick if he really said that. The group falls apart at the mention of Rick doubting. But Daryl won’t. He paces, shakes his head. He won’t. Rick is as scared and as alone as any of them and if the rest of them can’t see that, they’re fucking idiots. Every once in awhile, you need to say something like that, get it out of your system, let it be. Doesn’t mean they believe it. Doesn’t mean that Rick isn’t still his solid rock, his only hope. Rick will get them through this. Daryl knows he will.

_9:18 a.m._

Rick is so busy arguing with Jenner that he doesn’t see Shane until he already has the gun cocked and ready. He turns and comes at Shane, noting Daryl’s position if he needs him. Rick pushes Shane, trying to throw him back like he threw Daryl, but Shane tosses him aside easy with no second thought. No respect. Shane walks up to Jenner with the rifle and Rick throws himself along Shane’s side. “Brother, brother, this is not the way you do this,” Rick says. “We will never get out of here.” He wants to ask Shane to trust him, same as he did Daryl, but he realizes in this moment that Shane won’t accept that.

Lori tells Shane to listen to him. Rick tells him if Jenner dies they all will. He’s not sure which one wins Shane over, but he swings the gun, blasts the computers. Behind them, Daryl steps forward, but Rick has it, thinking exactly the same thing he is sure everyone is. The less computers, the less likely that door will ever open. Rick grabs the gun, struggles with Shane as he keeps firing. And then he is pulling it from Shane, throwing the butt of the gun into Shane’s head and slamming his elbow into Shane’s shoulder. Shane goes down and Rick stands over him.

“Are you done now?” he asks and Shane glares up at him, all hot rage and intent.

“Yeah, I guess we all are.”

Rick leans back up slowly, hands the gun to T-Dog and gives Daryl a look. Daryl nods at Jenner just slightly, motioning Rick that way and it gives Rick the strength to turn to the doctor, to try and convince him as much as he can in the next six minutes.

He leans over so he’s close to Jenner, forces him to reveal all his secrets--test subject 19, his wife, his promise, his work. Rick has to get him talking, because he has to make Jenner understand how much they all need this. A chance to live.

Behind him, Rick hears Daryl hit the door with the axe again, set up a perfect rhythm. Rick looks in Jenner’s eyes and wills him to understand. If not Rick’s words, then at least Daryl’s movements. How he’s trying to stay alive until the last instant. Rick thinks about the clock. Six minutes. Oh god, six minutes. He thinks about the rhythm that Daryl is setting against the door, the rhythm he set last night against Rick. It’s not a bad last thought, Rick allows himself, if it has to be his last.

But then Jenner understands. He walks to the console, slides his card, and opens the door. Daryl yells “come on” at the group and Rick tells Jenner he’s grateful. Jenner pulls him in, whispers that the blood tests show they are all infected. But Rick can’t process that right now. He rushes toward the door where his wife and his son are on the other side. But he finds that his eyes don’t scan for Lori or even Shane. They look for Daryl and he’s there, just on the other side of the door, his fingers strong against the axe handle.

Shane picks up their weapons, hands Rick the crossbow and he holds it tightly against him like it’s Daryl’s own body. He rushes to Daryl, looks him over once to verify that for the next four minutes-- _four minutes_ , his mind screams--they are both okay. Rick stares into his eyes, the gray blues covered in adrenaline and knows that this is what he was asking Jenner for.

_9:22 a.m._

Three minutes. T-Dog hits the doors first, finds they don’t work. Daryl bangs on them for extra measure, but to no avail. He turns to the window the same as Shane, throws Shane an axe and they both start in again, same as before. Right beside each other, fighting to reach the outside they so desperately wanted away from last night.

T-Dog throws a chair, Shane loads his shotgun, fires. Nothing. And then Carol is reaching into her purse, pulling out a grenade like she’s the apocalypse's Mary Poppins and Daryl could kiss her right now, except he’s diving for cover. Rick sets the grenade off and leaps back, gets halfway to Daryl before the blasts hits and he flies the rest of the way.

Daryl reaches for him, catches his body as he slides and then puts his hands on Rick to make sure he’s alive and okay. Rick nods and then Daryl is standing, pulling Rick up beside him and they are rushing at the window.

They leave the building in tandem, Daryl picking up the axes and decapitating a Walker as he runs. Shane and Rick clear the area of Walkers and as they hit the cars, Rick makes a beeline for the R.V, Daryl rushing for his truck. They pause for only one instant. Daryl nods and Rick nods back.

Then they are all laying down for cover, huddling in their vehicles, praying that Andrea and Dale are safe, that the H.I.Ts only set fire to the CDC air and not all the air of Atlanta. And then, in a rush of air, a rush of negative one minute, it’s over. They are all out. All but Jacqui, who decided to stay. And Jenner. Daryl falls back against his seat, lets one choking scream escape and then he waits for the R.V. in front of him, sees it pull out. He follows it blindly, like he will always follow Rick.

_9:50 a.m._

Twenty five minutes later, Rick stops the caravan. They are firmly outside of Atlanta, but cars are still piled up on the interstate, littered and broken. Rick pulls into an abandoned set of houses and the rest of the cars follow. Daryl parks his truck and watches Rick step out of the R.V door. Watches him slam off into the treeline. He waits for Lori or Shane to follow. Neither of them do.

Instead, Glenn walks shakily out of the R.V. and waits as everyone steps from their vehicles. “Rick said to stop,” Glenn tells them. “We need to see about syphoning gas from the cars. Get a smaller caravan. Make it to Fort Benning.”

Shane nods, smiling, and Daryl frowns to himself that the bastard won the argument. Shane goes into the R.V. and Daryl can hear Lori’s voice answer Shane’s question. With both of them preoccupied and with Dale and Glenn and the others setting up to leave, it’s not hard for Daryl to slip away. For him to follow Rick.

He finds Rick standing between two pines, staring off into the distance, his eyes glassy and unfocused. Daryl sees him shaking and he hangs back. But Rick nods him over and when he’s within range, Rick grabs him by the back of the neck, hauls him in, and then they are embracing.

“Tell me we’ll make it,” Rick whispers to him pleadingly.

Daryl wraps his arms around Rick, brings Rick’s head into his shoulder. “Yeah,” he says. “We’ll be just fine.” He rubs in small circles. “Just fine.”

Slowly, inch by inch, Daryl feels Rick relax against his chest and he recognizes that something has happened. Something like giving a part of himself away. Losing it in Rick’s body. In his gaze. Thrusting it out for Rick to take and Daryl hopes in that moment that he’s not being stupid. That Rick will give it back someday, bigger and better than before.

And ain’t that just a bitch.


	3. Part III: 4 Hours at the Farm

_2:31 p.m._

The second fall down the ridge leaves Daryl almost gone. The dirt is hard under his head, the water rushing softly and driving him into unconsciousness and somewhere within the back of his mind, he knows he needs to wake up.

Merle leans down over him, but it’s not the real Merle. This is a Merle with two hands, the one that Daryl remembers, his voice as comforting and irritating as Daryl has always known. “Why don’t you pull that arrow out, dummy?” Merle tells him, “You could bind that wound better.”

Daryl fades in and out of the conversation, responds on pure autopilot, even though this is his own head talking to itself. “I noticed you ain’t out looking for old Merle no more,” his brother says and Daryl responds.

“Rick and I, we did right by you.”

Merle tilts his head. “You his bitch now?”

“I ain’t nobody’s bitch,” Daryl bites out, but thinks if he ever will be, it would be Rick. His smooth voice, the touch of his hands all over Daryl like he can touch all him at once. _Get up_ , Daryl tells himself. _Get up for Rick_.

But he can’t. “You’re nothing but a freak to them,” Merle says and Daryl shuts down for a minute before floating to the surface again. “One day they gonna scrape your off their heels like you was dogshit.” Daryl thinks about Rick going back to Shane. About Rick fucking Lori. He thinks maybe if he stays in the dirt it will be easier for all of them. Less hassle. Less complication.

“Now you listen to me,” Merle says and holds his chin in place. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna care about you except me, little brother.” Merle taps his cheek. “Ain’t nobody ever will.” Except it’s a lie and Daryl knows it is. How Rick looks at him, how he clings to Daryl. It’s got to be a lie.

So Daryl pulls himself out of it as best as he can. Pulls his mind up and out of the concussion, the blood loss, the weakness, and the pain. He pulls himself up for Rick and finds a Walker there, right on him and Daryl makes a promise with himself. If he makes it past this Walker, past all the pain in his side, past the long, terrible climb to the top of the hill, he’ll tell Rick he loves him.

_5:47 p.m._

Andrea stands up from her chair, yells “Walker” and the whole camp is aflutter. Rick tells her to hold on, that Hershel wants to take care of Walkers, but the rest have none of it. Andrea gets in position to fire and Shane and T-Dog rush across the field. Rick grabs his gun from the R.V. and rushes past them as fast as he can.

The Walker is coming from the direction that Daryl headed this morning and Rick can’t even bear to think it.

The group rushes forward to meet it and Rick gets there first, well ahead of the others, lifting his gun in position. He pauses, having known it’s Daryl from halfway across the field--recognizing the familiar outline of his body, the slope of his shoulders, the tilt of his head. But Rick can’t see his eyes and his heart is pounding loud in his ears, threatening to burst and spill over. He thinks of watching Carl going down, shot, nearly dead and he can’t even move.

 _Let me see your eyes, baby_ , he wills, and Daryl finally, _finally_ looks at him.

“You gonna pull the trigger or what?” Daryl says, swaying in place. Rick wants to rush forward and gather him up, take the pressure off him.

But then Daryl goes down. The shot rings loud and clear in the afternoon air and Rick screams over it, turns back to Andrea, thinks if she fires again, Rick will put a bullet between her eyes. He rushes forward, collapses next to Daryl, sees only the graze against the side of his head and holds back the grief he almost had to tangle with. Daryl moves on the ground and then Shane is beside them and he just barely manages not to snap Shane’s head off, to tell him not to touch Daryl because Daryl is all his and Rick needs to hold him for a minute. But Shane is trying to help. Daryl wakes just briefly to mutter, “I was kidding” against Rick and then Rick and Shane are pulling him up and Daryl collapses against Rick’s shoulder, unconscious.

_6:32 p.m._

Rick is there when Daryl comes around, sitting next to him, watching him intently. When Daryl’s eyes open, Hershel asks him a couple of questions, determines he’s doing fine for now. So Rick gets up and practically throws Hershel out of the room. Shane knocks on the door, says they should talk about Sophia, but Rick bites into him. “Not now,” he says and slams the door, locks it.

Daryl watches him with rapt attention. “I’m all for you, baby,” Daryl says, smiling, “but I’m not in the mood to fuck right now.”

Rick collapses on the bed next to Daryl, picks up his hand and holds it to his mouth, closes his eyes. He’s shaking and he knows that Daryl can feel the tremors in his body. “I’m alright,” Daryl tells him softly. “Was a bitch, but I’m okay.”

Rick opens his mouth and can’t quite get out the words. He presses Daryl’s fingers to his hands, rocks back and forth on the bed. “I…” he swallows, tells himself he can do this. He’s never done it for Shane. And not for Lori, either. At least, not like this. Not so real, so truthful. But there’s not a single lie in Rick’s body where Daryl is concerned and he has to do this. Has to be brave and say it. So he does. “I’ve had to carry two people I loved across that fucking field,” Rick says. He puts Daryl’s hand against his forehead, breathes it out into the room. “I love you, Daryl. I love you and I almost lost you. “

Daryl sits up, grimaces hard at the pain, but tugs Rick toward him. Rick falls onto the bed beside Daryl, lays down and turns his head into him, not caring that Daryl is covered in dirt, creek water, and his own blood. Daryl sets his lips against Rick’s ear and whispers back, as sweet as anything Rick has ever heard, “I love you, too. I’m never going to leave you. Not if I can ever help it.”

Rick curls into him and then pulls out the makeshift necklace from his pocket. Four Walker ears thrown together.

“Fuckers tried to kill me,” Daryl says by way of explanation.

“It was close?” Rick asks and Daryl nods.

“Yeah. Real close.” He pulls Rick into him, puts his lips against Rick’s shoulder. “But I made it. I made it because I thought of you. Coming back to you.”

“Lori’s over,” Rick says quickly. “It’s over. Shane, too. I don’t have anything left in me but you. Nothing is mine, anymore. It’s just yours.”

Daryl holds him tight and Rick breathes him in, shaking with fear. “I have you,” Daryl tells him. “I have you and it’s all okay. I love you, Rick.” He kisses the top of Rick’s head, holds him as tightly as he can. Slowly, the seconds tick away, then the minutes. Then Rick is well enough again to lift himself up. To lean down and to kiss Daryl, soft for his injuries, soft for all the emotion that Rick feels. Daryl kisses him back, touches his neck and it burns white hot light where Daryl touches him. Rick leans their foreheads together and Daryl softly shushes away all the things that Rick is saying, all the pain and the hurt. He quiets it out of Rick and leaves behind only comfort, understanding, only simple and pure honesty, trust, and love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are interested in reading what goes on with Rickyl after this, read my fic [Lower Fields](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2771033), which is an AU of Better Angels and the companion piece [Higher Ground](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2749952) by skarlatha, which explores the Shane/Merle relationship in the background of Lower Fields.


End file.
